


Silver Morning

by storiewriter



Series: Bentley Farkas and Friends [23]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Fluff, Gen, Transcendence AU, but everything will be okay, these nerds, with a bitter tang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiewriter/pseuds/storiewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torako, still half-asleep, gazed at the way it spilled over the folds of the blankets, over the skin of her bare arms, over the glint of Dipper’s claws and how the back of Bentley’s jaw was lit, soft.</p><p>She'd missed this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Morning

**Author's Note:**

> For mayormcdodd on tumblr as a Secret Santa gift! I. have to admit. that this was a bit self-indulgent, but i hope it makes you happy as it did me!

            Sunlight streamed in the window; paler than gold, more silver. Torako, still half-asleep, gazed at the way it spilled over the folds of the blankets, over the skin of her bare arms, over the glint of Dipper’s claws and how the back of Bentley’s jaw was lit, soft. She blinked, slow, looked at the shadows, the depth of them, the way they pooled opposite the light, the line of them on the wall, moving up and across in a temporary cast of them, of Torako and her boys, against the pale green paint.

            She’d missed this.

            Dipper nuzzled against her neck, his nose brushing the space between her jaw and her neck, and his exhale was warm, if a little ticklish. She stopped herself from moving though; it wasn’t often that she woke up and both Dipper and Bentley were still asleep. In fact, she could count how many times that had happened over the past two years on both hands and still have fingers left over.

            But she didn’t count, because they were asleep. She could feel Dipper against her right arm, the heat of him in the crook of her elbow, his neck pressed to her shoulder. Torako found herself admiring the way the shadow kept the eyes in darkness, the reflected light glancing off his eyelashes, the sweep of his dumb bangs that he insisted on keeping long.

Torako shifted her gaze to Bentley, his back to the window, arm half-under the blankets. The shadows under his eyes weren’t just because his face was away from the sun, and Torako carefully pushed herself away from thoughts of Philip. Even so, the next breath she took might have been slower, longer, more controlled, and she might have had to close her eyes from the grief.

           A second, two, and she looked back at Ben. His face was slack, cheeks and nose just barely illuminated by light reflected off the pillow, green. Maybe a little exhausted around the edges, a little tired—she could see creases by his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, hadn’t been close enough for and she swallowed back the self-hatred. She didn’t have time for that, she told herself. Instead, Torako swept her eyes over the adorable sweep of the bridge of his nose, the thick lashes she’d secretly envied once, when she was younger and less sure of herself. The new, tiny scar at the edge of his eyebrow, and when had he gotten that? The way his bottom lip was thinner on one side than the other, just barely, and oh, her chest hurt again because she loved him so, so much.

           She looked back at Dipper, saw how he’d added in wrinkles at the edges of his eyes too, and wait—Torako looked then again at Bentley, saw the exact same ones there, and she thought that oh no, she thought she might actually cry. Torako Lam, the girl who’d just clenched her teeth and hissed when she sprained her ankle playing hurling and kept going, crying over wrinkles. Hah!

           The hurt in her chest grew, but it was good, it was a good hurt because she did, she loved them. She would never ask them to love the same way back. Never. But. She did love them, and knew that they loved her back even if it was different, just a bit. Torako closed her eyes, let out a deep breath.

            _Why the hell didn’t I just ask to move in with them from the start?_ She asked herself, pulled each of her boys a little bit closer. She saw the illuminated folds of the sheets on the backs of her eyelids, rendered in pixelated yellows and greens and shifting to blues, the image distorting into something abstract. _Why the hell didn’t I just ask? It’s not like they would have said no._

            Dipper huffed against her neck, shifted. Bentley just tipped further onto her shoulder, his hand pressing against her ribs. Torako opened her eyes, looked up the wall, up a crack she’d noticed upon first being shown the apartment all those months ago, but the subtle way it splintered and branched a hand’s breadth down from the ceiling was new—or was it old, and she just hadn’t noticed?

            “…what’s that look for?” Dipper murmured against her collarbone. She blinked, slow, then focused her gaze on him. His eyes, half-lidded, yellow against black and mostly alert. “You okay?”

            Torako didn’t answer immediately. She traced the bend of his eyelashes—shorter than Ben’s, but thick, not like her own—up to those creases at the edges of his eyes, watched the way they tightened when she didn’t say anything.

            “Torako?” He shifted, pushed himself a little up and off her, his elbow digging into the mattress. The creases in the blanket changed, altered, the light fell across them differently. He put his fingers against her cheek, stroked, claws gentle. She looked back at him. Dipper’s gaze flitted between both of her eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then, “What’s wrong?”

            This time, Torako hummed, pressed on his shoulder with her hand, and smiled. He fell back against her with a huff. “Nothing much, you dork. I’ve just. Missed you guys.”

            He kept looking at her, his expression unreadable. His fingers tightened a little in the folds of her sleep tank, just above the rippling sheets. The silence felt a little heavy now, the light more golden than silver, but Torako didn’t mind.

            “Mmm, it’s okay,” she murmured. Bentley shifted into her again, cheek to her shoulder, hair tickling her jaw. She stroked his back a bit, and he made a soft humming noise but didn’t wake.

            Dipper didn’t respond to that either. She looked away from them, at the door, the way it was cracked open. She’d left it that way so that the nightlight in the bathroom could spill through the space, just in case Bentley woke and was scared. She traced the doorframe with her eyes and then let out a breath. Torako didn’t mean to let out the, “Love you, dork,” that came with it, but it came, and it was true.

            Dipper paused, then pressed a kiss to her cheek, dry-lipped and chapped but warm. “Love you too, you insufferable human.”

            She snorted, lifted her hand to ruffle his hair. Bentley shifted again against her and let out a grumble, bringing his hand up and around to smack the side of Torako’s face. It was hard not to laugh—even Dipper pushed his mouth against her cheek so that she could feel the grin, and he shook beside her.

            Torako wouldn’t change it for the world—not the way that the laughter eventually burst out, the way Ben glared at both of them and papped them both back to shutting their eyes, or the way they were warm—almost too warm—beside her. Her boys.

            She was home.


End file.
